


Your Eyes Have Their Silence

by arrows (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Character studies, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Poetry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/arrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five mini-fics based off "somewhere I have never traveled,gladly beyond" by E.E. Cummings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Eyes Have Their Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I really like this poem, okay.
> 
> All mistakes are my own, all characters (with the exception of May) belong to Marvel.

**one**  
 _somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond_  
 _any experience,your eyes have their silence:_  
 _in your most frail gesture are things which enclose_  
 _me,  
_ _or which I cannot touch because they are too near_

Clint loved a lot of things about Natasha, but her eyes were by far his favorite. When she was happy, her eyes were green-blue, shining not like the ocean but like the lake he swam in with her on their rare vacations in Europe. When she was sad, her eyes were the only things to show it, and only he knew to look for the cold blue resembling her cold Russian childhood winters. When angry, they were the slight blue you see at the bottom of the hottest flame, glinting with inner fire. She was an expert, _he_ expert, at hiding her emotions, but in her eyes were her frailest moments, where even she couldn't hide _everything_ , especially from the man who knew her most.

**two**  
 _your slightest look easily will unclose me_  
 _though i have closed myself as fingers,_  
 _you open always petal by petal myself as Spring_  
 _opens  
_ _(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose_

Tony didn't show himself to the world. Or rather, he showed himself, but none of it was really him. A masquerade, complete with the mask he hid behind (not only the Iron Man mask, but his face as well, crafted for each occasion with emotion or lack-thereof). From the first time they met, Steve had known how to break that mask down, layer by layer until it wasn't Stark or Iron Man but _Tony_ showing through. First it was his anger and annoyance, the mask not yet completely removed. Steve forced Tony to be himself, and taught him emotions he had seldom felt. It was hard to have friends when the world sees you as a mistake waiting to happen, or as one that had already happened. Tony grew into friendship and love as one who has hardly ever truly known either does: slowly, like a flower growing and blooming and becoming beautiful.

**three**  
 _or if your wish be to close me,i and_  
 _my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,_  
 _as when the heart of this flower imagines  
_ _the snow carefully everywhere descending;_

They met in the snow, which, Loki later mused, was fitting for a frost giant. Not so fitting for a desert girl, but as he had heard the mortals say more often than necessary, opposites seem to attract. Darcy hadn't been welcoming, not exactly. But she had only threatened him a few times, more than he'd get from any of their so-called superheroes, who seemed to think he was their biggest threat. (If only they knew what was out there, what power had really controlled the would-be king, before he had broken free and been banished to this awful place.) She let him explain herself, and upon seeing he wasn't a threat without his magic or weapons, she began to trust him, slowly, as the snow fell around them. In any other circumstance he would have said that was a mistake, but not his time: it was nice to have a friend, someone he could trust who trusted him back, and eventually that's what they became. "Friends." He loved the sound of that word. It was so much nicer than "enemies".

**four**  
 _nothing which we are to perceive in this world_  
 _equals_  
 _the power of your intense fragility: whose texture_  
 _compels me with colour of its countries,  
_ _rendering death and forever with each breathing_

She does not fear death, she's seen far too much of it and while she may not believe in any kind of afterlife, it would be nice to be pure nothingness for a while. Neither does she welcome it. There are too many things she will miss: the cold Russian winters of her childhood, the humidity and heat when she's on a mission somewhere down South, her partner's smirk when he thinks he's gotten away with something, the way he hides in the vents and eavesdrops because he fears not knowing what's happening, soft kisses far too real to be believed, and the truth of the last few years with Clint that have overpowered all but a few of her bad memories. As she dies, about a hundred years later than she should've, colors flash across her vision and she thinks she'll miss them the most. Red like blood on snow and sheets, orange and yellow reminiscent of fire and warmth, bright blue like Clint's eyes, then black: the darkness she hid in for far too long that she supposes she's returning to now. It seems whoever said life was a circle was right after all.

**five**  
 _(i do not know what it is about you that closes_  
 _and opens;only something in me understands_  
 _the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)  
_ _nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands_

Darcy looks into his eyes and sees the something that's purely _him_ , intelligence and joy and humanity and just a dash of regret, and they speak to her more than any words could, in a soft smooth voice like caramel and a language only she can understand. Peter holds her hands in the rain, smiling, pure joy spreading across his features as their little girl runs under their linked arms and turns sharply in front of them, grinning up from under her blue butterfly umbrella. "Mommy, Daddy, look what I found in a box!" They pause, hoping it isn't something a small child shouldn't be picking up, before Darcy replies. "What did you find, May?" May holds up a small spider, making sure it stays under the umbrella. Darcy shrieks, growing up in New Mexico and almost getting bitten by a large spider or two had made her just a little afraid of them. Peter kneels down next to her, studying the spider in her small hands. "Very good May," he laughs and kisses her on the forehead, careful not to disturb the spider. As they walk back to their apartment, hands linked with May skipping ahead of them, Darcy smiles at him, her eyes saying "I love you" and everything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you like it!


End file.
